Black Feathers and Saccharine Lies
by The-Last-Flower
Summary: And this is us,What we are.Uncertain,Unknown,And Unnamable,The winter wind,And summer sun,Tears,Bruises,A tug and a pull,A fight,A war,We battle,And in this fight for dominance,I allow myself to lose,I submit to him, For we are every lie,And every truth...A Journey Into Mystery Fic. Thor x Loki. More info inside...


…

**Black Feathers and Saccharine Lies**

…

He leans against the windowsill,

White hood pulled up,

Hiding tousled ebony locks,

The childhood roundness of his chin,

Nestled deep within the crook of a knobby elbow.

I land,

Feathers ruffle,

Straighten,

As I carefully position my talons upon his shoulder,

Wary of causing him harm.

Although I can see,

He is unwillingly,

Unconsciously torturing himself,

And I am not one to judge,

For I have burned the same way.

'The thoughts you are thinking are foolish ones. You would be clever to wipe them clean of your mind.'

He turns,

Brows furrowed,

Two lines of ink against his ivory skin.

'And how do you know the thoughts I think? I believed you a mischief maker not a mind reader.'

I follow the green of his gaze,

With the keen eyes of a bird,

My vision,

Perceptive,

And all seeing.

Thor fights within the courtyard,

Sparring with Sif,

The large tanned muscles of his arm ripple,

Gleaming with a fine sheen of sweat,

As he brings down his sword,

She quickly parries,

The clang of metal rings loud,

A painful song.

'The former would be true, the latter false. You forget I was once you, and the unforgiving thoughts that travel through your mind were once my own.'

Suddenly,

In a flash,

Quicker than lightening,

He grabs her,

Laughter an easy thing upon his lips,

His hand a sharp contrast against the paleness of her cheek,

Their lips meet,

I look way.

The contract of my heart,

Reviled,

I can feel it radiate off his flesh,

Cloning my emotions,

The grief,

And sorrow,

Of unrequited love,

I cannot help but think,

_He is too young to feel this, to suffer so_.

However,

I suppose,

My years on him were not many,

When I discovered the torment of yearning,

The passion of flesh,

Thor and I learned each other's bodies,

Little more than youths,

With inquisitive hands,

Hot blood newly found,

The catch of breaths,

We became whispers upon the night,

The quiet sigh of flesh in the ever surrounding blackness,

Gradually fading,

Our times together filtered down to nothing,

Like fragile sand slithering through weak fingers,

Until only the sharp sickles of icy emptiness remained cradled within my palm,

Until he seldom sought my warmth,

And when he did,

He stunk of ale,

Tasted of mead,

He used me,

And left shortly afterwards,

I would let him,

Knowing in the morning he would not remember,

I would let him,

Needing this small contact,

A moment of softness,

No matter the painful thorns it grew,

For if bruises were all he gave me,

They would be a cherished thing,

And I would gladly torture,

Torment in his flames for it.

Perhaps that's when it happened,

The bitter seed of infatuation,

Blossomed,

Rooted deep within my heart,

Becoming acrid madness.

'Ikol.'

Loki speaks,

Disintegrating my stream of mind,

Attention focusing,

Forcing me,

Back into the frigid harshness of reality,

The normal bright emerald of his eyes,

A soft mournful moss.

I did not perish for this,

Risk all,

And die for this,

To see him suffer as I had.

'Let us take a walk.'

The words,

Perhaps to foolish ears,

Sound joyful,

But within them I hear,

Thickness,

Heaviness,

The weight of a stone on his little tongue.

I answer quickly,

The lash and whip of beak,

Loathing the dryness of my throat.

'Let us.'

Again,

I cannot help but think,

_He is too young_.

..

The density of a sea,

The air thick and choking with the heaviness of it,

A struggle to breathe,

The aroma of roses,

Cinnamon,

The scent of magic,

Suffocating,

Overwhelming,

Drowning.

He walks ahead,

Ebony hair bobbing with each step,

Small fingers reaching out to pluck red leaves from a wiry branch,

With the effect of a quick snap.

I fly behind,

Sinews fiery with effort,

Wind rushing,

Pleading,

Pushing,

Dry and ruthless,

Against wings.

Heartbeat rapid and panic,

A swift desperate thing,

With a swoop,

I land upon his shoulder,

Feathered head cocking to the side.

'We must leave.'

Urgently my eyes flash,

Scanning the woods

The land pulsing,

A steady hissing rhythm,

The vestiges of a spell,

Runes of magic engraved within the soil long ago,

Since the birth of Midgard,

Waiting to be activated by someone with the correct blood.

'You fidget like a bee. Such nerves are strange for you, Ikol.'

'This wood is filled with dangerous magic, and I cannot name the trouble it will bring, but I hear its threatening siren.'

Lips pursued,

Expression puzzled,

He turns slightly to better face me,

A small boot covered foot lifts,

Pressing down upon a small rock,

Mouth opened to speak,

Words never having the chance to leave.

It is enough,

Magic is born,

An unwanted child.

Enchantment hums,

The air wavers,

Turning cold,

Before the temperature increases,

Boiling.

Frantically I act,

Digging knife like talons within the sinew of his neck,

Flesh sliding beneath frenzied claws,

Tossing him to the ground.

He crashes,

The gentle curve of his arched spine hits the ground with a dull thud.

Growing from the soil,

A terrible vine,

Tears apart the earth,

Purple flames with keen ice edges explode at my back,

Burning,

The scent of searing feathers,

Sickening,

Cursing.

I see fear,

A fog of jade,

Spread through his eyes with the fury of a plague,

As my world bleeds black.

…

Pants emerge,

Wet and gurgling,

The bubbling of a spring stream.

My chest seaming sewn shut,

Tight and forceful,

Ribs chaining deep against empty lungs.

'IKOL!'

Through the fog,

The haze of a pained mind I hear Loki,

Voice burdened with saccharine panic,

Laced and threaded like a woven lengthy tapestry.

Finger lightly shove,

Shaking my flesh,

Colors spark,

A rainbow swirls,

Expands,

Fluttering away,

Dusts of snow,

Vision clears.

He kneels before me,

Framed by looming trees and lifting smoke.

'You should not move.'

The undertone,

A strange promise,

One I cannot name.

Discarding his orders,

I shift my weight,

Upon an elbow,

The heel of hands pushing firmly against soil for support.

_Hands?_

Cagily I lift them,

Scrutinizing the length of ten digits,

Fingernails painted black.

Bile rises,

A sour bloom,

The bitter petals blossoming across my tongue,

Dread,

Palatable,

Alarmed stare,

Traveling,

Spanning,

Nude pale flesh,

Old scars,

Lean legs.

Muscles,

Shamefully weak,

Disused,

Shudder,

The tremble of a leaf.

I collapse,

Strength giving way,

Broken,

A useless thing.

Loki scurries,

Like a mouse,

Supporting,

Lifting,

Leaning me against his chest,

Thin arms beneath mine.

'Did you plan this?'

He asks,

Ringing loudly of wariness and uncertainty,

A wise thing to be.

My head tilts,

Pillowed against his collarbone.

'No, I did not. Although I cannot blame your lack of faith.'

'Not a lack of faith, I do not like being an unaware piece in the game of plans you play.'

We remain silent,

Awkward,

An excruciating cadence.

'Some one is coming.'

Loud footfall echoes in the distance,

Reverberating,

Stabbing to the center of my bones.

Eyes search mine,

For guidance,

Help,

I have nothing to offer.

'I cannot lift you, or hide you.'

I wish I could halt it,

The slight swell within my bosom,

The flutter of a butterfly's wings,

The strangeness of it,

Despite all my wrongs,

And misgivings,

He sought my well being—although in a hesitant cautious fashion.

'Their rage will be directed at me, you have nothing to fear.'

A crease forms,

Marring the flawless surface of his brow.

'Yet I do fear, for you are me, and I do not want you harmed.'

Footsteps grow,

Increase,

Approaching,

Piercing,

A march before war,

For this is the greatest war of all,

One with no chance of victory,

One with only the greatest offerings of loss.

The hair at my nape rises,

A warning,

The sign of a coming storm.

Loki stiffens at my back,

Small muscles turning to stone.

The footstep halt,

Their carrier admits a hiss,

Threatening,

An irate lion.

'**LOKI!'**

Thor charges,

Pouncing,

A blaze of tan flesh and crimson cape,

Nose red with rage,

A vein throbs steadily along his temple.

My blood surges,

Throat tightens to the point of a pin,

An annoyance,

A keen blade slicing open my chest,

I bleed it,

This peculiar mixture,

Of loathe,

And something unnamable,

Unknown,

When Thor is around.

Fingers span my neck,

Grip a harsh vise,

Flinging me to the ground,

A useless toy,

Limbs twirl like a ragdoll.

I hit,

The force great,

Knocking air from lungs,

Causing eyes to snap,

Head to crack,

Humming shrieks to scrape the tender inside of my ears.

He is upon me,

A predator seeking prey.

Thor's lips pull back,

Baring teeth,

Causing a barb to inch across my skin.

'You should keep calling me Ikol; this whole situation has the means to become terribly confusing.'

I sneer,

Cackle,

The crackle of dying flames.

Fingers find my throat again,

Squeezing,

A hard knee upon my chest.

_Oh, I have missed this._

Pulses through my mind,

The motivation behind past mischief so very apparent,

I lied,

I schemed,

Just to feel him,

The friction of angered flesh,

To see the way his blue eyes flared,

Hot like the summer sky,

I needed him,

For he was,

Is,

The reason for my very breath,

The reason for the blood that pools within my veins,

Torrid and thick,

Headiness,

Ribbons spiraling within.

Needle points spark,

White dots,

The fingers tighten,

Lack of oxygen,

Lung starving.

I writhe,

Thrash beneath him,

Head dizzy,

Swimming,

Lips curl,

Searching for the kindness of air.

If he wrought my death,

Stole my life,

Then I would gladly fade away,

Dissolve into the earth,

For his calluses against my skin,

Were the greatest pleasure,

Haunting my every waking moment,

Madness.

'Stop! Stop this! You will kill him.'

Through the hazy mist,

Of an air deprived mind,

I see Loki dash,

A streak of black against the sepia toned forest.

Tiny hand upon the bulk of Thor's arm,

Tugging.

The weight on my throat lessens,

Lifts,

Air rushes,

Cool,

Tantalizing,

Feeding starved lungs,

Palatable and chilling like the spring breeze.

I gasp,

Muscles going slack,

Collapsing onto the earth,

Green blades of grass,

Slicing blooded cuts on the tender skin of my thighs.

Loki kneels,

Disquiet painted across a pale face,

As he guides my head on his lap to rest,

Reluctantly I let myself be led,

Tired,

Exhausted,

Disgustingly so,

Loathing the necessity of protest.

'What schemes are you plotting, sly one?'

Thor growls,

The sound of thunder shocking the sky.

Black glove covered fingers,

Sweep across my forehead,

The light touch of a bird's velvet feathers.

A steady drum beats within,

Temple throbbing,

Unforgiving,

Callous.

'Unfortunately, I have no schemes left in my empty soul.'

He snorts,

And I prickle.

'I lost faith in your words long ago, lies always so easy on your tongue. What magic did you concoct?'

Anger burns,

A hearth,

Scorching my blood,

Something Thor always wrought,

Heat and rage,

Twisting the center of my guts.

'My magic departed long ago.'

'Magic and lies were always your constant companion. I find it hard to believe you would allow them to leave your side.'

It's a tug,

The pluck of musician's fingers on a string,

A snake slithering between thin ribs,

Weaving a vicious pattern,

Lies,

Mischief,

Magic,

Were things I held onto so tightly,

_For Thor, you were the only one who every loved me and then even you stopped_.

'This magic was not mine; an enchantment was placed upon this land long ago.'

'You expect me to believe this?'

I sigh,

Nose against the softness of Loki's belly,

The green fabric of his tunic flutters lightly.

'I expect no one to believe the words that leave my lips.'

'How do I know you did not return to pollute his mind?'

I reel,

A verbal slap,

I hiss,

'I did not risk my life to save him, only to later destroy my good work.'

Loki's small hand clenches at my side,

Little fingers curving in,

Forming a fist,

The round curve of hardly suppressed irritation,

The tip of his snub nose,

Flourishes,

A stunning pink,

He pipes,

The slight chirp of a bird.

'I do not like being spoken about, spoken over, like an object of the scenery.'

I push up,

Sitting,

Fingers,

Knuckles,

Digging into the moist yielding soil,

Head against the knobby curve of his shoulder,

The small move making my vision swim.

'We have to sneak you into Asgard, you need to rest.'

Tiny fingers,

Press against my bicep.

'Help me stand.'

I command with a viperous murmur.

'I do not think that wise.'

Loki whispers,

Green eyes wide,

Ebony brows angling downward.

Thor bends,

Leaning over me,

Blonde locks,

Brush,

Glide,

Ghost my temple,

A tickle,

Causing breath to catch,

Stomach muscles to harden and clench,

With despised and familiar anticipation,

The want of vehemence and pain.

'Cover yourself.'

A growl,

Repugnance,

As he tears away his red cape,

Threads cracking like splintered bones,

And shredding sinews,

Dropping the fabric across my lap,

A pool of blood against white skin.

The bony length of my fingers,

Work,

Tangle,

Flipping the cape around my back,

Tying a knot,

The crimson draping like a cloak,

A waterfall of rubies.

The callus of his palm,

Presses flat against my back,

Branding,

Fingers beneath the sensitive curve of a knee,

Lift,

As if I am a weightless,

Nothing,

The thud of flesh against flesh,

As he cradles me in his arms.

Humiliation,

Mortification wells,

The remembrance of ignominy,

Battering my senses,

The memory of what his warmth meant,

The poison of him and us.

'What do you think you are doing?!'

I bark,

Uncomfortable with any sense of undoing,

Weakness,

With the feel of him.

'You quiver like a babe, it is obvious your muscles have yet to recover.'

Self-loathe swarms like a hoard of locust,

My limitations,

Unwanted,

Unwarranted,

Abhorrent.

Loki stands,

Feet bending,

Toes tipped like the edge of the sword,

Cutting through the yielding air,

As he skips to Thor's side,

Tugging at his black tunic.

'We must keep Ikol hidden, bring him to my chambers.'

Fondness,

A promise within his blue eyes,

A smile,

Crinkles mapped around his brow,

As he looks down,

I know at least for young Loki there is some hope.

'Go ahead to your chambers, I will follow in a minute.'

He nods,

And bounces off,

An excited rabbit,

Slowly fading from my view.

Alone with the cause of so many past mistakes.

Tan digits draw up red fabric,

Making a hood,

Blunt finger tips skim a stark cheek bone,

Hiding inky tresses,

The comforting gentleness of the touch a foreign thing.

'We cannot have anyone recognize you.'

The circle of his arm,

The embrace of memories,

I expect to feel an eerie bubble of warmth,

But I remain numb,

Empty,

As he carries me into Asgard.

…

I sit on the edge of his bed,

Vision a fine blurred line,

Obscured,

By the inky spikes of lashes.

With hooded lids,

I watch Thor,

Riffle through his wardrobe,

Pulling out tunics, stockings, and cloaks.

Green fabric flashes,

Like the fall of leaves,

Pooling upon golden tiles,

Speedily,

I stand,

Tiles cool against bare toes,

A shiver travels,

Uncertainty,

Crawling up my spine,

I kneel,

Fingers grasp,

A green cloak,

My green cloak,

The old clothe littered with tears and holes.

'What is this?'

I rasp,

Throat tight,

Hating,

The feelings that erupt within.

'It is—'

Breaths come in heavy pants,

Jagged,

The sea crashing against rock,

Causing lungs to ache with the weight of them.

'I KNOW WHAT IT IS! I AM ASKING WHY!?'

I slam my fist against the floor,

Black blooms,

A painful welcomed rose upon my knuckles.

The collision of flesh against marble,

Echoes,

Nauseating in the silence.

'I searched the rubble of your chambers after Asgard's siege—after you supposed death—and I saw this, something urged me to take it.'

I try to quell it,

Ignore it,

Lie,

And tell myself,

I can feel no longer,

But it coils within,

Heat,

My ribs feeling suddenly small,

My lungs and heart pressing against them,

Body a prison,

A constraint.

'It is an odd thing, this sentiment.'

I whisper,

A chime,

Sharp and threating in this lull that enveloped us.

Green eyes clash with blue,

Slowly he comes to my side,

Sitting on his heels,

Drawing green fabric from my hands,

Knuckles brush,

Breath halts.

'And you feel this sentiment now?'

'I am unsure of what I feel. My emotions have been lost—confused—for such a long while, I cannot discern them—untangle them—they are a woven basket.'

He leans close,

So near I can smell him,

Sun,

Sweat,

Soil,

And summer air,

Hear the hum of a rapid pulse.

I am reminded of what we used to be,

Of what I once was,

Before I let darkness swallow me,

Grasp me with its terrible claws,

Before Thor discovered the softness of a women's flesh,

How they pleased him far more than I ever could,

For they had something I could not give,

Something I guarded.

I remember,

The way we played together,

Young boys causing trouble,

How different I was when Odin stole me from my homeland—a theft I caused,

The way Thor took me under his wing,

Easily accepting,

While others remained aloof,

The first time he kissed me,

Anyone kissed me,

Within our shared room,

The song of night crickets around us,

Our teen years just reached.

How when Odin strung me up,

A snake dripping vile venom upon my face,

The way Thor's nose colored with rage,

And I lied telling him it was the frost giants, who harmed me so,

Wanting to protect him from his father's cruelty.

When suddenly,

Like a rift in the land,

We grew apart,

Our differences becoming so very apparent.

And how slowly my lies changed into something,

Vicious,

As vile as the venom that burned my flesh,

How jealously,

And sorrow,

Transformed me into a monster.

'Lo—Ikol.'

The rough skin of his palm,

Presses,

Against the curve of my back,

I bite my lip to suppress a moan.

It has been too long,

Since any soul has touched me,

Years since I have lain with anyone,

And many years since I have lain with him.

'Yes?'

The thunder of his voice lowers,

The undertone,

A caress.

'Do you hold any regrets for your past actions?'

I cock my head,

Long tresses cascade over my shoulder,

A streak of black paint across the canvas of pale flesh.

'I am a creature of strange things, I hold both regrets and pride for what I have done.'

The corners of his lips tug,

A frown forms.

'And are you sorry?'

'I am sorry for everything that involves us, _brother_.'

We both stiffen,

At the last word,

The air turns thick and crushing.

'Should I trust you?'

Blunt finger tips dig into my arm,

An pain bone deep.

'I do not even trust myself.'

I choke,

A truth,

Perhaps the most honest piece of me,

For even I am aware of beast that hides beneath the surface.

It happens,

Before I have a chance to react,

He draws me to his chest,

Arms a circle of reassurance,

An embrace.

The last time he held me in comfort,

We were children,

When I woke at night plagued with terrors,

Dreams of Laufey's cruel words and livid fist.

I despise it,

The way muscles shake,

The burning of eyes,

The damping of lashes,

The distress,

Grief,

Anguish,

I am a disappointment.

Weaknesses abhor.

I act,

Wanting to change,

How I melt into him,

Wanting to erase vulnerability,

Despising the closeness,

The emotions he wrought within me.

Lips crush against his,

Mouth open,

Teeth touch,

Tongues tangle,

I can handle this,

Bear it,

For to him it means naught.

I need to remember what we are,

Our truths,

I need to remind myself,

What I am,

Remind myself of the mead upon his tongue,

And of callous disregard,

Remind myself that I am nothing.

Hips press,

Hands on his shoulder,

Flesh slams,

Reverberates through the chamber,

As he hits the ground,

I straddle him,

Bucking,

Grinding,

Moaning,

Tongues,

Meet,

Mate,

Dance.

Hands,

Search,

Probe,

Travel,

Rediscovering long forgotten secrets.

Hot breaths,

Wet gasps,

We are whispers.

He shifts our positions,

Rolling me beneath him,

Finding my mouth again,

Frantically I bite his lip,

He holds lean hips harshly,

Freezing movements,

Slowing my writhes.

His kiss eases,

Tongue free of the terrible taste of mead,

Cherishing,

Significant,

Promising.

Uncomfortable,

With the twist within my chest,

The intimacy,

The sensation,

A confusing thing,

I break way,

From his lips,

Sighing into him,

'I need you, _now_!'

_Remind me why I hate you!_

_Take me like you used to!_

Yet his touch remains tender,

Gentle,

Almost kind.

And I am undone,

Unsure,

Shamefully frightened,

Panicky,

Tense,

Nervous.

He positions me carefully upon the floor,

Cold against my bare bottom,

The red fabric of his cape beneath me,

The blood of a sacrifice,

Black hair fanned out,

A storm cloud.

I close my eyes,

Unable to tolerate his gaze,

The meaning of blue.

He takes me,

And this is us,

What we are.

Uncertain,

Unknown,

And Unnamable,

The winter wind,

And summer sun,

Tears,

Bruises,

A tug and a pull,

A fight,

A war,

We battle,

And in this fight for dominance,

I allow myself to lose,

I submit to him,

For we are every lie,

And every truth.

…

I wake,

Disoriented,

Drowsy eyes taking a moment to focus.

I am in his bed,

Plush furs,

Blankets,

Tangle around lean legs.

He sleeps at my side,

Wide back facing me,

I rise,

Carefully to keep movements,

Hush.

At the edge of the bed,

I see them,

A tunic,

Stockings,

A cloak folded,

The fabric rough woven,

The colors a faded brown.

He know me so well,

That I will not stay,

Cannot stay.

I dress,

Pulling the tunic over my head,

The top large and billowy,

I tug the laces of the stocking,

A struggle to get them to fit my lithe waist.

Fingers works,

Clasping the cloak around my throat,

Hiding hair beneath a fur lined hood.

I am surrounded,

Overwhelmed by the feel of him,

The aroma of his skin,

Almost able to feel his muscle within these clothes.

Cautiously,

I climb onto the bed,

Mattress giving way beneath weight,

I kiss the sharp broad blade of his shoulder,

Tasting salt.

I Flee,

Fearing the tug and urge to stay,

I leave,

Without looking back.

…

He opens the door before I enter,

Purple smudges beneath his eyes.

'Do not tell me you have been waiting the entire time?'

Small hand reaches,

To rub tired eyes.

'I have. Thor came and told me you had fallen asleep, but still I worried.'

I bend,

Tapping his chin,

Brushing tousled locks.

'Let us go in, and you rest.'

We walk into the small room,

The wet smell of night air,

And rain,

The smoke of a candle's flame,

Dense and grey.

The blaze causing walls to glow,

An array,

Of orange,

Yellows,

Reds,

And gold,

The fleeting memories of childhood and fall.

He climbs,

Settling,

Burrowing deep within the furs and blankets of his small pallet.

'Will you not sleep?'

He asks,

Buried beneath covers,

The tip of his head,

Small flecks of black hair,

Sticking up,

Peeking out.

'I am not tired.'

Smile false,

Truths unseen,

And untold,

As I sit on the edge of the window,

Watching as his breathing slows,

Shoulders relax with slumber.

Exhaustion,

Taking ever nerve,

And every inch of my soul.

Soon,

I will be lost,

Willingly,

And hopefully,

Forever.

…

I knew not when sleep came,

Yet it did,

With great force and vigor.

Nightmares following,

Darkness,

With sharp vicious claws,

Raking talons across my mind,

Voice hissing,

Growling,

Singing of mischief,

And death,

I wake,

Screaming,

Back stiff,

Windowsill cutting into tender sinews,

Cold sweat covering every inch of skin,

There is no escape,

And so I plan one.

…

I pull the cloak,

Tighter,

Taut across my frame,

Hiding any trace,

Of who I am,

Or had ever been.

He sits,

Head upon knobby knees,

Wind rustling ebony locks

Sun beaming down,

A warm caress.

I walk kneeling at his side,

Green grass waving with the light breeze.

'I cannot stay like this.'

He does not meet my eyes.

'I know.'

'Any magic I ever had is lost, at least for me. But you, you have all the power I once held.'

He turns,

Sharply,

Green eyes wide,

With wonder,

And surprise.

'You said power is dangerous so I would have little.'

I bite my lip,

Tasting sweet,

Saccharine,

Blood,

Rust,

Metallic,

The strangeness of delight.

'I lied; you must always remember it is what I do.'

'And how do I know you lie not know?'

Puzzling,

The swell of guilt,

Pushing hard against ribs,

Breaths arresting.

'You do not. But _I _need to be able to trust you.'

He jumps,

An eager grasshopper.

'You can.'

'Every spell I once knew, I must teach you so you can change me once again into Ikol, the magpie.'

Serious,

Concern,

And the bright light of intelligence,

Spreads across his face.

'You told me not to trust you? Can I trust you with this?'

Blood freezes,

Ice,

Numb,

Cold,

As harsh and unforgiving as the winter of my homeland,

I lie.

'Yes.'

…

I speak it,

The soft lyrical chime,

Chants of wonder,

Words of magic,

And his listens,

Ears eager,

Avidly hearing,

Curious mind interested.

I act it,

The motions,

The twirl and twist of spell casting fingers,

And he copies.

I teach him,

For he is me,

My student,

And tool.

..

Again at night,

They haunt me,

The swirl of stars,

The siren of darkness

Cackles,

Screeching,

Jagged,

Glass against glass,

Urging,

Pleading,

Calling,

'_Let them all see who you are! That Loki the trickster has returned! Let them remember the havoc you sow—your terrible song of mischief.'_

I wake,

Once again,

Panicked,

Palms press,

Against my eyes,

Until they ache,

And colors spark,

Blinding.

I cover my ears,

Bury my face against knees.

The voice remains.

…

Screams,

Echo,

Cries of terror,

Cracking,

Shattering,

I realize they are not my own.

Shooting,

Standing,

I stumble forward,

Through the blackness of night,

I find him.

Body convulsing,

Furs and tunic,

Tangled around thin legs.

Fearfully,

I shake him,

Grasping the small span of bony shoulders.

'Loki, you must wake up!'

Tears,

Damp upon his cheeks,

Clinging to his lashes,

Falling like malicious rain,

Glistening on ashen skin,

Illuminated like diamonds by the pallor light of a candle

Terrified,

That darkness would claim him,

As it had me,

I strike,

Slapping his cheek.

Eyes shoot open,

Two dots of white,

Gaze back.

'Are you well?'

He tries to wrench from my grasp,

I tighten my hold.

'It was only a dream.'

Dreams,

Were never just a dream,

For the people of Asgard,

Visions of the night were omens.

Emotions ruling,

I scream.

'WHAT DID YOU DREAM OFF?!'

He pulls away,

Furiously wiping tears from his eyes,

Rearranging blankets and furs.

'I do not know! Of darkness and horrible thing and a frost giant with an angry fist.'

Would it never leave us?

These memories,

I prayed they would leave him,

And although he did not remember most during his wake,

Others plagued him at night.

He thought them nightmares,

I knew them as truths,

And the terrors of our past.

I pull him to me,

Cradling him like a small bird,

Holding the base of his skull,

Small fingers threading through my tunic,

Tears soaking fabric,

Tremors stealing his frame.

This would never leave us.

…

The raps of a knock echo,

Shattering the silence,

The moon wavers in,

The pale flesh of his face dyed opal.

The skin beneath his eyes,

Swollen,

Red,

Breaths small broken hiccups,

I remove his hand from my shoulder,

Untangle his sleeping body from mine.

Standing,

On frail legs,

I drape the cloak around my lithe frame,

Tucking stray ebony locks,

A black waterfall,

Beneath the hood.

I answer the door,

Knowing who stands behind,

The arrogance,

Demanding impatience of the taps.

'I need to speak with you, L—Ikol.'

A murmur,

The rumble of a thunder long past.

'Come then.'

Leading,

Following,

We walk,

Side by side.

With lowered lids,

I watch the ripple of muscles beneath his tunic,

The broad span of his shoulder,

Heat pooling in my stomach,

The familiar roll of flames licking up my flesh.

Halting,

Stopping,

I wrench his arm,

We are alone,

In a forgotten corridor,

One only few know of.

'Words are not your strong suit.'

I sigh,

And purr,

A chorus of mischief.

I Exhale,

Breathe against his throat,

Smelling sweat,

Slumber,

And sun.

I guide his mouth to mine,

Tongue tracing,

Trailing,

Memorizing the feel of him,

Memorizing everything about him,

His laugh,

The red tint that mars his face when he is angered.

He slams me against the wall,

Harsh stone,

Rasping,

Cutting,

I wind legs around his hips,

Fingers carding through blonde tresses,

Back arching,

The curve of a bow,

He plays me better than any instrument,

For we are a tortured song.

His kiss desperate,

I can taste it,

His every touch,

And past kindness,

They way held me a small frightened boy,

The first time his lips touch mine,

The curious fear,

The loathe,

Shame,

The transformation of a monster,

The birth of mischief.

We rock against each other,

Panting,

Humming.

I need him,

This,

One last time,

For madness urges,

And I listen,

For I am its willing servant.

Thin fingers move,

An alluring twitch,

Unlacing the ties of his trousers,

Dipping below the hem,

To feel him.

With a twist,

He removes my hand,

Pinning wrist above my head,

Holding me captive,

I submit,

An enthusiastic prisoner.

Keeping one hand upon my wrist,

Tan digits,

Skim,

Down the line of my spine,

Counting ever knob,

Giant ribs,

Tugging down my trouser,

Pushing up my cloak,

Fabric,

Hissing,

Crackling,

Whispering.

He turns me,

Quickly,

Piercingly,

Forehead scrapping stones,

Breaths catching,

Finger tips digging into my hips.

'THOR!'

The haze of passion,

Vision red,

Clears,

With the claws of reality and awareness.

He drops me,

A useless play thing,

I slide to the floor,

Knees clinking.

I look away,

Ordering my clothes.

I knew she would come,

She would walk this corridor,

As she did every night,

One of the few still aware of its existences,

Still I led him here,

Lit his passion,

For I wanted her to see,

Know the scorn I felt,

I let mischief rule.

For lies were I fate that held me tight,

And I could not escape,

A willing tool of havoc.

'Sif!'

Hiding deeper within billows of fabric,

I listen with keen ears,

To her angered gasp,

And his panicked retorts.

'I will not ask what this is for it is obvious. Whose flesh do you seek to state the heat of your blood?'

'Merely a palace whore!'

_A whore._

Nails dig into my palms,

Marring,

Painting,

Red crescent shaped moons.

'How reassuring! Then I will leave, allow you to finish your business. Do not seek me out later, my door will be locked.'

The click of boots,

Reverberate,

Fade,

Fade

Fade,

Until only emptiness remains.

He grabs,

Slamming me against the floor,

Head snapping,

World exploding in white.

'You planned this!'

I sneer,

A splintered grin,

Cracking my mask.

Fury,

Flooding veins.

'A bit of fun.'

His fist raises,

Posed to strike.

'Hit me, it would be the greatest pleasure.'

I jeer,

Spit,

Vicious venom.

'If it would please you in anyway, then I dare not!'

He growls smashing me against the tile,

Face above red and livid.

'You cared about my pleasure only a moment ago!'

'Are you so sure of yourself?! Perhaps it was my own release I sought, not caring who it was with!'

Tears sting the back of my eyes,

Furious,

I lash out,

Racking nails down his face,

Watching as fine lines of crimson swell,

Red droplets of rubies,

Precious blood welling to the surface of skin.

Then does he act,

Strike my face,

Knuckles hitting my jaw,

Head throbbing with a rhythm of pain,

I cry out,

With pleasure,

For the pain of the body is far kinder than that of the soul.

He drops me,

Breathing ragged,

Furious.

Dully I stare at the ceiling,

Listening the echo of his footsteps,

Until he is gone,

And I am alone,

With a monster.

…

We draw a circle,

Runes within the soil,

I sit at the center,

Nodding to Loki.

'Are you sure of this?'

He asks,

Green eyes wary.

'Yes.'

For a moment he hesitates,

Mouth opening to speak the chants of magic I taught,

We both freeze upon hearing Thor's voice.

'Ikol.'

I look up,

Eyes void of emotion.

'Leave us for a moment, Loki.'

Cautiously,

He sends a look of implore to Thor,

Before tentatively leaving.

'I am sure you have words to speak, so speak them quick.'

'I have left Sif.'

It is not what I thought he would say,

My head snaps up quickly,

Meeting the blue of his eyes.

'What!?'

'Do not go through with the transformation. Stay as you are, stay with me, share my bed, let Asgard know you are back, and I will protect you from whatever scorn they speak.'

Heart skips a beat,

Eyes averting,

Studying the wavering of grass,

Unable to bear the emotion within his eyes,

Wanting nothing more than to cling to the falsities of hope.

'I cannot.'

'Why!?'

He roars,

The rumble of thunder.

'Do you not see Thor? What happened last night? I tried most avidly to hold back my mischief but it is a part of me, a piece I cannot cut free. And it will turn me again into a beast; it is only a matter of time. I must disappear from this world forever.'

He grabs my chin,

Hold branding like hot coals,

Grip a cage,

Forcing my eyes to meet his.

'What do you mean?!'

'I have lied to him you see, he think he will turn me again into Ikol the bird, but I have taught him a different magic, he will make me vanish. I will be gone forever.'

The fingers around my chin tighten,

Willing to keep me in place,

The chains of captivity,

Freedom never promised.

'I will not let you leave.'

'You must, for he will still remain, all the good of me—my heart. I am merely vanishing the anger and hate—the terrible spite.'

He pulls me against him,

His chest,

Hardness and strength,

Failing to reassure,

For I have forced numbness.

'I will care for you, make sure nothing pains you.'

It was too late for that,

The opportunities lost many years ago.

'What are we Thor? For if you do not answer, if my question is met with only nothing, than that is the truth of us—we are _nothing_.'

I hear the chorus of silence,

The harshness of truths.

'Ah! You see now! _Nothing!_ There was never a chance for me, for fate is a cruel mistress. But, our young Loki, I have cut him from fate, allowed him the freedom I long craved.'

I slam fists against his chest,

Nails digging into the steel of his bicep,

Voice sharp,

Desperate,

A keen blade,

Jagged glass.

'You care for him Thor. Give him the chances I never had, the hope I never had. All the promises you just made me, give to him. Let him mature, let him grow, and when he is a young man, love him, take care of him, and protect him.'

His lips meet mine,

One last time,

The taste of regrets and sorrows,

Saccharine Lies,

Stolen opportunities,

And something for me that never would be.

He pulls away and whispers,

'This I promise.'

I am lost.

…

Loki's eyes meet mine,

And I know at that moment,

I have not fooled him,

For he is far too clever,

And always suspected the truth.

My eyes flash quickly to Thor,

Engraving his image in my mind,

My memories.

I turn back to Loki and nod.

He opens his mouth and speaks,

The song,

And chant,

Of magic.

Light shines,

Blinding me,

Claws at my center tearing me apart,

But I am silent for I must be.

Pain,

Talons,

Blades,

Swords,

And knives,

Ripping away bits and pieces,

Until nothing is left.

I am gone,

Yet I remain,

Unwillingly,

I am the wind,

Silent,

A whisper,

Wishing only for freedom,

And peace.

Unseen,

Unheard,

But yet I see all and hear all.

Loki sobs,

Small body shivering with the onslaught of tears.

'I did not wish for this to happen.'

Thor pulls him to his chest,

Embracing,

Rocking in comfort,

Lips upon his temple,

He murmurs.

'I know.'

…

I watch as Loki grows,

Blossoming into a young man.

I watch as he gazes at Thor,

Hoping.

I wait.

…

He stands outside his room,

Long elegant fingers twirling nervously,

Twisting the long lengths of his ebony hair,

Fidgeting he tugs at his green tunic,

The gold adorned edge,

Nervously awaiting Thor's return.

Eagerly he turns,

At the sound of loud footsteps.

'Thor!'

He cries,

Relief a bright light,

Spreading over his pale face.

A smile cracks Thor's tanned features,

Littered with the cuts,

And bruises of battle.

'You are injured!'

Loki gasps,

Fingers trailing the kinks,

And nicks of armor.

'Not as badly as I could have been, you strategy worked well.'

Black glove covered fingers skim his square jaw,

Pressing at a large bruise,

The painful smudge,

Painted,

Purple,

Blue,

And yellow across the canvas of tan flesh.

'I am fine.'

I see realization,

A fire within blue eyes as he takes in Loki,

A man of eighteen,

Pale and lithe,

Thin and graceful.

A flush blooms,

The blossoming of a rose,

Across his pale skin,

Pinking the tips of pointed ears and nose.

They waver,

Step forward,

Move,

And at first it is silent,

Awkward,

But their lips meet,

For the first time,

Arms winding around each other's necks,

Kiss becoming eager,

Frantic,

Passions long denied,

Love finally accepted.

My vision blurs,

Until I can see them no longer,

My hearing fails,

Until there is only murmurs and then nothing.

I fade,

Carried away,

I vanish,

Forever,

Gone,

Forgotten,

And finally free.

…

**End.**

…


End file.
